Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here
by AngelisIgniRelucent
Summary: "Dean!" you yell, desperate, broken. The sheer terror on his face which he's trying so hard to hide breaks your heart, but still, he tells you to run. But you don't. Of course you don't. If you did, what kind of brother would that make you? WINCEST


**Spoilers for 5:10 – basically this is my version of events in that episode – Ellen and Jo aren't there, and all the jazz which happens to Jo, happens to Sammy instead.**

"Dean!" you yell, desperate, broken. The sheer terror on his face which he's trying so hard to hide breaks your heart, but still, he tells you to run. But you don't. Of course you don't. If you did, what kind of brother would that make you?

Of course – that was always your problem – you never did know how to obey orders. So yes, you disobey a direct order, but if you hadn't, life would've been unimaginable. So you ignore his desperate pleas, and you run towards him, firing at that sonuvabitch like there's no tomorrow.

As far as you're concerned, there _is_ no tomorrow. You're on a suicide mission, for Christ's sake. The least you can do is keep each other alive until it's been completed.

You feel a glow of relief, hope, and just a little bit of pride as it backs off, whining, and Dean is left whimpering on the floor. You put on a burst of speed, trying to get to him before anything else does. You're so fixated by the agony in his dollar-bill-green eyes, and the incessant need to make it go away, that you don't hear the snarling behind you, feel the hot breath on the backs of your legs.

And it's stupid, _stupid_ of you, but you're just so lost in the beauty that you hardly even feel it barrelling into you. You hardly even notice it knocking you to the ground, and pinning you there with heavy paws. And then you _do_ feel its razor sharp claws ripping into your side, and you _do _notice the fucking _pain_. It hits you with as much force as a speeding cement truck, and you black out.

Through the crushing darkness and the debilitating pain, you hear gunshots, and shouting – shouting your name. You sort-of come to again, but not really. You remember being dragged up into a standing position, being pulled along behind someone. He's yelling at you to _run_, and you're trying to run, but you keep tripping over your own feet.

You must've got there eventually, because when you wake up, you're in a shop, and there's salt everywhere. And blood. Your blood, you think, but you can't be sure. Because Dean's bleeding too. You can see it dripping off the shirt he's wearing as he bends over the line of salt he's drawn, inspecting it for faults.

You should be helping him, so you try to get up. Bad idea. You let out a cry, and he's instantly next to you. His hands ready to support you if you fall. You look down, surprised as to why your guts aren't spilling out onto the floor – they feel like they should be. They're only being held in by a bandage, and already it's soaking through. It won't last long – _you_ won't last long.

So much for keeping each other alive. But Dean's still alive – and it always had to be Dean, didn't it? Even when you told yourself, told him, that he wasn't strong enough, that you were _stronger_, you knew, didn't you? Of course you knew. He's always been stronger than you, and he always will be. That's why he's got to be strong enough to leave you here. To leave you here and to kill the Devil.

He puts up a fight – of course he puts up a fight. What kind of brother would he be if he didn't? But he knows too. He knows this is his last chance, so he takes it. What kind of human being would he be if he didn't?

So he does. He turns to leave, with tears streaming down his face, dripping with his blood onto the floor. You try to smile up at him – to reassure him that it's alright, but you think it comes out as a grimace of pain, so you stop trying

He hands you something small – you don't have enough life force left in you to lift it up to eye level. He's saying things, so many things, but you're not quite coherent enough to understand. You know what he's saying, though. He's saying that he's sorry. That he loves you. And you try to reply with a 'me too', but it just comes out as a groan of pain, so you stop trying.

Then he does something unexpected. He kisses you. Not on the cheek, or the forehead. On the lips. And it burns. It feels like your whole body's been set on fire. And it's beautiful. You sigh as he draws back, the tears in your eyes disguising the tears in his, and you're glad that you got a glimpse, no matter how brief, of true love. Before you died.

You can feel your energy ebbing away, and you know he needs to be far away when it does. So you summon up some of your draining energy through the force of pure will. One word. It's all you can say. Any other word would be a luxury. One which you don't have. If you did, you'd probably say something like 'Dean, I'm so sorry, forgive me. I love you so much. Go now – I'll be fine'. If his life didn't depend on it, the one word you'd say would simply be 'Dean'. But luxuries are something you haven't been able to afford in a long time. So you let your one chosen word burst out of you like a siren.

"Run."

**Thoughts?  
>xx<strong>


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